


5 Ways They Might Have Met If Stargates Did Not Exist

by whereismygarden



Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: 5 Things, Alternate Universe, M/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 08:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3929782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereismygarden/pseuds/whereismygarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what is says on the memetically proscribed title tin. Five different AU stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dog

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do a "5 ____" meme/trope bingo thing since it's a very Stargate thing to do, and I also have been having lots of fun reading the lists circulating tumblr of 'meet ugly/meet weird' instead of 'meet cute' ideas for ships.

'i asked a staff member and they said you’ve been coming to the pound every day to play with the dog i’m taking home today and that’s why you’re getting weirdly emotional’ au

-

                There were papers to be filled out, the number of which bordered on unreasonable, but Rush just stood at the main desk and filled them out, dropping each completed form on the desk of the bright-eyed young woman typing away on her computer. Shannon was flopped down at his feet, her tail thwacking on his leg occasionally. Eventually, there was a small stack, and he signed the credit receipt for the eighty dollar adoption fee. Which seemed a bit silly, given that he was taking a rather large dog off their hands, but no matter.

                He waited, leaning on the desk, for the woman to finish entering something in her computer, when Shannon scrambled to her feet with a scraping of claws on the wooden floor and a tug on the leash around his wrist. He turned to see the door of the shelter swinging shut, a broad-shouldered dark-haired man having entered.

                The man started walking right over to him, then drew up shortly, a flicker of some emotion passing over his face before disappearing behind a bland mask. Shannon was wagging her tail energetically at him. Perhaps he was a volunteer and so the dogs were familiar with him. Rush clamped down on the absurd jealousy that his new dog was more enthusiastic about this man than him, and let out the leash so that she could go forwards a bit. At that, the man took a few steps of his own, holding his hands down for her to sniff and lick, and then gave her a scratch behind the ears.

                “Hey Everett,” the woman said cheerfully. He nodded to her, and then disappeared behind the doors to the kennels, causing the low barking to increase in volume. She resumed her typing at the computer, slowly picking up each form and entering something. At the time it was taking, she could very well be retyping the entire thing. Rush petted Shannon on the head, trying to contain his impatience. She licked his wrist, and he felt better when he imagined walking her back to his house, because she didn’t get much exercise in the play yard at the shelter.

                The doors to the kennels opened again, and the same man came back out. He walked towards, close enough that Rush could discern the faded lettering on his sweatshirt: he supported some sports team called the Timberwolves, or had at some point.

                “I’m Everett Young,” he said, holding a hand out, and Rush blinked for a moment, then returned it. Judging by the twitch of his mouth, not quite soon enough. “Jake said you were adopting Shannon.”

                “Yeah,” he replied, and the other man nodded.

                “Well, I come in sometimes to play with the dogs—“

                “Every day,” the woman at the desk said helpfully. Young, or Everett, frowned for a second.

                “I see Shannon a lot. I would have loved to take her myself, but I’m not in a position to.” He sounded apologetic and defensive, and uncomfortable. Rush wasn’t sure how to proceed, and glanced down at Shannon’s fluffy brown head, watching her wagging her tail.

                “Well,” he said. “I’m sure, that you can run into us sometime.” He jerked his head to the east. “I live on Green Street, near the university campus.”

                “Take good care of her,” Everett Young said, and crouched down to pet Shannon and whisper something to her as the woman at the desk caught Rush’s attention by virtue of handing him a small selection of his forms and pamphlets about dog care.

                Then they were walking out the door, Shannon’s ears pricked forward at the sound of the street.

                Over the next few months, he got into the habit of taking Shannon for a walk in the early mornings and then a longer, slower stroll around the neighborhood and campus in the evenings. He also gave the most reliable local high schooler he could find the code to open his garage in the cases that he was kept late at campus to proctor exams or in emergencies. She was very intent on going to college, so he didn’t worry about her stealing anything more than a few things from his fridge when she came to feed and let out Shannon.

                Shannon, as he had hoped, made his life less miserable: he had to get up and walk her and spend time outside, and in the evenings, when he would finish grading or working and sit on the couch, trying not to wish he was dead, she would either lie on his feet or sit on his lap and put her cold nose into his neck. He took her with him, a few times, when he went to Gloria’s grave on Sundays.

                He didn’t see Everett Young until summer, when he had been roped halfway into staying and talking at someone’s side-yard cookout. There had been a beer pressed into his hand by a woman with reddish blonde hair, and he couldn’t walk away with it. There were three local children clustered around Shannon, only one of which had asked permission to pet her. He was eyeing them a little nervously: so far she seemed fine with them tugging on her ears and patting her clumsily, but the last thing he wanted was to have her maul a five-year-old.

                She sat up, displacing the child who had been rubbing her belly, but the little girl just bounced right back to her feet, to Rush’s relief. Shannon’s ears were pricked forward, and he followed the line of her attention to see Everett Young, whose name came to him almost immediately. He was talking to another of the presumed hosts, an Asian woman who was still in a business casual pair of slacks along with her bare feet, and looked like he didn’t want to stay, despite the fact that a plate of pasta salad and a beer had been handed to him.

                Rush, because Shannon was showing interest, crossed a few meters and circumvented a plastic table piled with bowls of pasta, potato, fruit, grain, and traditional salads. His beer was mostly gone, because he’d been drinking it quickly so he could leave, and he finished and dropped the bottle into the recycling bin.

                “Hey,” he said. “Everett Young, right?” He turned, to see Shannon’s whole body vibrating along with her wagging tail. He broke into a quick, unguarded smile.

                “Wow,” he said, and reached down to pet her. “I didn’t expect to see you again, old girl,” he said, and bent over, allowing her to lick at his face. “How is she?” he asked, straightening up and shaking black hair out of his face.

                “Good, I think,” Rush said.

                “I didn’t get your name,” he said. “I go by Everett.”

                “Nicholas Rush,” he said. “Mostly people call me Nick.” He nodded, and glanced down at Shannon again.

                “Glad she’s doing good,” he said. The Asian woman in slacks drew up to them.

                “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met officially,” she said, shaking Rush’s hand quickly and handing him a paper plate with a selection of the salads and a piece of grilled chicken on it. “I’m Camile. I see you walking all the time.”

                “Nick,” he said, wondering how to give her back the plate.

                “Well, welcome officially, then,” she said. “Everett lives across town, but he gets a free pass to our barbecues, I’m glad you already know someone.” She gave them both a smile, then drifted off again, no doubt to force-feed her other guests. Rush, not keen to converse, tried the potato salad. It was very good, actually. Everett was eating his, posture relaxing as none of the other guests came over to engage him.

                “I have a mutual friend with Camile,” he said. Rush nodded. They stood in silence for a while, until the children, still captivated at the presence of a dog, migrated over.

                “You can come over, you know,” he said. “If you’re in the neighborhood.” Everett looked down the neck of his beer, visibly uncomfortable but also clearly interested. “Just text me.” He rattled off his number, and Everett nodded.

                “I don’t have texting, I’ll have to call,” he said. Rush shrugged. The strawberry blonde woman came back with more offers of beer, but they both declined, and Rush walked home a lot later than he had expected to.

                It was nearly a month later by the time Everett called. The unfamiliar number on his phone caused Rush to wrinkle his brow for a moment, but he picked up anyway.

                “Hello,” he said, trying not to sound annoyed at the interruption.

                “This is Everett Young.” The man’s voice sounded deeper on the phone, but Rush recognized it.

                “Yeah,” he said.

                “Offer to come over still standing?” he asked, sounding self-conscious. Rush nodded, then realized he definitely couldn’t see the nod.

                “Yeah, I’ll expect you,” he said.

                “Right.” He hung up at that, and Rush wasn’t sure when he would be coming. It was earlier than usual for his walk, anyway: he had just gotten home and was baking potatoes for dinner. He could wait for Everett, if he came.

                He showed up about twenty minutes later, knocking on the door and poking his head in cautiously when Rush yelled to come in. He was steaming some carrots of dubious quality, faced with the reality of a guest, however odd a one Everett was.

                “Have a drink,” he said, trying to preempt anything awkward. Shannon paced around Everett as he settled himself against an unoccupied counter.

                “Should I do anything?” he asked. Rush considered his potatoes, the steamed carrots, and the leftover browned beer with spice he was going to offer for dinner.

                “No,” he said. “Let me put this beef in the microwave.”

                “Uh, you don’t have to feed me.”

                “You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to,” Rush said, and he did eat, sitting across from Rush at the kitchen table.

                “It’s good,” he said, as there was an audible crunch as he bit into a carrot, which had been seasoned with salt alone.

                “Sure,” Rush said. He always made as little effort as possible when it came to cooking. If Everett wanted good food, he should go to one of Camile’s cookouts.

                They ate in silence, and then walked Shannon together. Everett wasn’t much interested in talking, which Rush appreciated. He was just quiet, thinking to himself and not making any demands whatsoever on Rush, aside from his presence. He left after the walk, giving Shannon a last pet.

                He came over about once a week, after that. Sometimes he brought food, usually in the form of a basket of fried chicken or bag of purchased sandwiches. It was usually tastier than his own food, however, so Rush was grateful. He learned that Everett was former military, and consulted for the military still.

                “I live in an apartment, so I can’t have a dog,” he said one evening, when they had decided to throw a tennis ball to Shannon instead of going for a walk. “I would just go to the shelter every evening and play with those dogs.” Rush nodded, throwing the ball towards the edge of his property with a flick of his wrist. “My ex-wife got the house.” He didn’t sound bitter, just sad. “She’s allergic to dogs.”

                “My wife was too,” he said, and that was probably the first thing he had said to anyone about Gloria in six months. He wasn’t sure why he had said it, but in the slowly fading blue and orange light of the sunset, the warm, still air, and the rustle and chime of Shannon going through his overgrown yard, it had just spilled out. Everett didn’t speak for a moment, just turned his head.

                “I’m sorry,” he said, and Rush wondered how he had guessed so easily. Did he just appear grieving to everyone? He tried to present himself as he ever would: maybe a touch quieter and harsher, without her to soften and draw him out.

                “How long has it been?” Everett asked, quiet, sincere, and without detectable pity.

                “She died last fall.” Shannon trotted up with her ball, and taking the slimy thing in his hands and tossing it back gave him something to do for a moment. Everett considered for a long moment, then reached to the side and poured the rest of his beer out onto the grass, slowly. Rush felt a few tears prick at his eyes, and he held still, let Everett toss the ball for a few rounds.

                He hadn’t had friends since Gloria: he had, in a grief that had held him all fall and winter, withdrawn from all her friends, who had turned out to be most of his friends. The other faculty were his friendly acquaintances, not his actual friends. Everett had one friend, as far as he could tell: a man who was still in the military, and was his point of contact with Rush’s neighbor Camile.

                It was nice, having a friend: Everett invited him to his apartment, with the intention of watching sports. Rush was unimpressed with the idea, and spent the basketball game in question grading papers and eating the tortilla chips and dip. Everett played chess, and they would set up Rush’s board on the coffee table at his house, sitting on the couch, usually with beers, to play. Shannon usually elected to spend these times in Rush’s lap, trying to curl up there and impairing his play. Everett beat him perhaps one in every four games, which was better than he had expected. The man, with his collection of beat-up t-shirts and worn jeans, didn’t cultivate an intellectual appearance, though Rush knew a few professors who also wore their hair in curly clouds.

                Despite his new habit of having company, Rush spent the second week of October in a haze, trying to think of nothing at all, and reverting to his tendency to sit on the couch and wish he was dead. Shannon kept him company, not whining when he neglected to take her for a walk for four days straight.

                Everett showed up, despite his deliberate non-answering of his phone, and came in with a bottle of scotch and his usual container of fried food. He didn’t say much, just let Rush snap at him and put a plate of greasy fried chicken and French fries in front of him once he was three gulps into the scotch.

                A week later, after he’d apologized for needing someone to cover his classes, he took Everett to Gloria’s grave. He was quiet, watching Rush intently as they walked through the churchyard, to the small headstone.

                “She was everything for you,” Young said finally, after Rush stared at the headstone and wished he’d brought Shannon, so no one had to speak, for long minutes. He wasn’t sure why he’d brought Everett here, but he wanted to—it sounded stupid to say he wanted Everett to meet her. He wanted to reconcile that he had some measure of happiness, now, or a lessening of grief, even without her.

                “Everything good I ever had,” he agreed.

                Camile and her partner, Sharon (the strawberry blonde woman) invited them both for Thanksgiving, along with a press of people. Rush, who had never been especially fond of the holiday, found himself waiting around after helping wash up the absurdly large lunch, because Everett was still watching the American football game. He let Camile push a container of leftovers into his hands, and she glanced over at Everett, on the couch with some of the other neighbors. They all seemed too full to get properly excited about the game, but were making an effort.

                Camile flicked her eyes back to Rush and gave him a small smile. He didn’t smile back; there was something amused at his expense in her expression.

                “See you guys,” she said when they left.

                He had nothing to do on Christmas, and unsurprisingly, Everett came over in the afternoon. They played checkers instead of chess and drank Irish coffee, with enough whiskey on the side to get actually tipsy. Rush found that Everett was, despite being a decent chess player, abysmal at checkers, and the fun of the game diminished fast.

                Shannon was asleep at Rush’s side, having stretched herself over a large portion of the couch, back legs pushing against the arm of the couch and head against his knee. He was pushed up closer against Everett than he remembered being when he sat down, but it wasn’t bad. Then Everett touched his cheek, turned Rush’s face towards his own, and kissed him.

                He hadn’t been expecting that, and startled a little. Everett pulled back at once.

                “Sorry,” he said gruffly, face closing down in a way that Rush hadn’t seen in a while. “I just wanted to.” Rush put a hand on his wrist and thought about it. There was a shadow of devastation lurking, but he wouldn’t deny he had warm feelings for Everett. Theoretically, they could be romantic feelings. Practically, it would be, he thought, very easy to make them into romantic feelings. He had never been the best at separating out that kind of emotion, but he already liked Everett: he could progress to physical attraction from here.

                “I’ll try,” he said, and let Everett pull him in close, not kissing him again, just settling them together. Shannon, disturbed by the movement, sat up and attempted to climb into Rush’s lap once more. Everett did not attempt to dissuade her, and petted her head.

                “I see,” Rush said. “This is a plot to get close to my dog.” He smiled at Everett, though, the best one he could manage, and Everett snorted.

                “Yes,” he said. “But I decided you might be worth it too.”


	2. Craigslist

‘craigslist personals au’ 

-

                Camile and David were sitting on his couch, drinking beer and looking like they had a scheme. Young half-wondered what they were planning, but hopefully nothing more than convincing him to get out of the house and drinking instead of sitting around and drinking.

                “Everett,” David said. “When was the last time you got laid?” Young tried not to choke on his beer.

                “None of your business,” he said.

                “You’re retired and doing a desk consulting job, there’s no reason for you not to be having regular sex,” David persisted.

                “I hate to agree with Telford,” Camile said. “But you literally don’t see anyone except us, and I think you could use a friend.” She gave David a narrow-eyed look. “Regular sex wouldn’t hurt, I agree.”

                “Okay, Camile is worried about your feelings. Whatever. You have us. But it’s way easier to get sex than a relationship.” Camile inclined her head at this point. “So it’s a good starting point.” Young shifted in his seat.

                “If I wanted to get laid, I wouldn’t need your help,” he said. Having them earnestly talking about it was not putting him at ease. David held up a finger.

                “We think you’re not getting laid because you’re not desperate enough to put in the effort yet. I’m here to tell you that the effort is basically none at all.” Young frowned.

                “I don’t think so,” he said. Camile shook her head.

                “Everett, you’re very old-fashioned,” she said, as David dragged his backpack over and pulling out his laptop.

                “Just hear me out.”

                “For the record, I’m neither endorsing nor condemning this method,” Camile said, but she looked like there was something bad in her mouth. Young was not feeling hopeful. If Camile was going along in any way with David’s attempt at relationship advice, she must think he was desperate. David turned the laptop in his direction.

                “Craigslist?” He frowned. “Isn’t that where you buy used furniture?”

                “Generally, yes,” Camile said.

                “However,” David cut in. “There is a personals section. Women seeking men, men seeking men. I can tell you your best bet for instant results is going to be with guys.” He clicked on the link, through a temporary page requesting that they be eighteen or older, to a list of links ordered by date. Young glanced at them, unimpressed. Most of them were extremely vulgar, or unintelligible.

                “This does not sound like a safe way to have sex,” he said.

                “It’s probably not,” Camile said. “But you’d have lots of choice.”

                “Look,” David said, clicking on one ad. “This guy is just interested in sucking dick: ‘White male in thirties wants to suck cock of attractive man nsa.‘ That means no strings attached. There are at least three guys a night who just want to suck dick, Everett. If you went out you could meet them too, but you won’t.” Young grimaced. The conversation had gone on long enough that he would never admit it to David, but he was very tired of getting off alone at night. But this sounded like the opposite of safe.

                “I don’t know.”

                “There are more reasonable ways to meet people online,” Camile said. “Other than for casual blowjobs.”

                “But casual blowjobs and more are out there for the taking,” David said. He finished his beer. “Just keep that in mind.”

~

                “Rush,” Park said, hand on her chin. Brody and Volker both rolled their eyes, and Volker pulled his wallet out to hand Brody a twenty.

                “Keep your money Dr. Volker, if it’s a question you bet on I don’t want to answer it.” Rush turned back to his soup and tried to ignore his coworkers. They were having their weekly dinner at the Red Tiger, which he usually enjoyed because usually Park talked about music or gardening. He had a feeling he would not enjoy the next hour or so.

                “When was the last time you had a romantic or, ah, sensual encounter?”

                “Definitely not answering that.” Rush scowled at her.

                “Since Mandy Perry left for Florida,” Brody said, in his usual deadpan manner. He was right, but Rush didn’t want to talk about it.

                “You’ve just seemed very aggravated lately and we were thinking—“ she paused, as Brody and Volker glared at her—“Okay, I was thinking that you might not be aware of the many options available to you. For release,” she finished brightly. Rush wanted to put his face in his hands, but he settled for continuing to give her an unimpressed look. “I know not everyone wants sex when they’re frustrated, but I’m just going to list off some options.”

                “That’s not necessary, Dr. Park,” he said, but only half-heartedly. Park had good intentions, and he could already tell she was going to power through with her list.

                “There’s Tinder,” she began. Volker shook his head.

                “You need Facebook.”

                “Grindr.”

                “Not a good idea,” Brody chipped in.

                “Your classic online dating sites like OKcupid.”

                “No,” Volker said.

                “Your slightly less reputable Craigslist personals.”

                “You could definitely get a blowjob but I think everyone there is too stupid for you,” Brody said. Rush choked. Park raised her eyebrows.

                “You can meet interesting people on Craigslist,” she said primly. Brody looked at her as if he was drawing all kinds of conclusions about her.

                “Thank you, Dr. Park, but I am not interested,” he said. Park shrugged.

                “When Ron and I want to meet someone new, we sometimes go on Craigslist.” This time, Volker choked. Rush thumped him on the back. He was sure that a picture of Park and her boyfriend would attract any number of people, but if he were to attempt any such endeavor, he doubted it would yield results.

                He seriously needed to rethink these weekly dinners.

~

                Young couldn’t believe he was doing this. Maybe David’s words had gotten to him after all. He had, a few times, almost replied to the offers of men in their twenties for sex with no expectations, but he’d never been able to go through with it. He didn’t want to fuck some young man or woman he didn’t know, he wanted a friend.

                He’d glanced through a few of the other ads on Craigslist: sometimes women posted just looking for friends, not casual sex. According to Camile, more friends were what he needed.

                He titled his advertisement “Looking for a friend first” and added his age: 41. God, this was probably a terrible idea, but there was no guarantee anyone would respond, and he was anonymous, at least for now.

                _I’m not here for casual sex: eventual sex maybe. I’d like to make a friend out of this. I’m only interested if you’re up for emailing back and forth for a while before meeting to do anything, sexual or not. Please keep that in mind before you contact me._ Young considered that. He highly doubted any of the men who usually frequented the personals would be interested, and added a final note: _If you, like me, are a little hesitant about meeting someone via this website, you are probably the person I am most interested in meeting._ Most of the ads had a brief description of the person making it, but that seemed to undermine his intention of not being in this for casual sex.

                If he was being honest with himself, he could probably ask David to change their relationship to “friends with benefits” and David would be up for it, but it didn’t appeal. He liked just being friends with him, and with Sheppard: he had a very strong theory that David and John had a longstanding, pre-DADT repeal, friends-with-benefits thing going on, and he didn’t want to put his foot into their arrangement. No, he could certainly use a friend, and if he made a friend, he wanted it to become something else. Perhaps he should crosspost his ad to the men seeking women category. It wasn’t like he had suddenly lost his attraction to women just because it had been pointed out to him that men were more available and seemed more willing to meet. Young hit “post” before he could lose his nerve, and shut his laptop. He needed to go for a run.

Well, it was posted now. He wasn’t sure if it would yield results, and he half didn’t want it to.

~

                After a week of steadfastly ignoring everything Park had said, he decided to at least look up what the hell she had been talking about. He could confirm his thought that it was a waste of time.

                Perhaps he had been nurturing some secret hope, but approximately twenty seconds after looking through the Craigslists personals, he was completely disgusted. No one could spell, but he guessed that wasn’t a requirement for soliciting oral or anal sex from strangers, after all. There were far too many pictures of penises, and he wanted to cringe at the thought of Park navigating this hellscape of a website.

                Still, it was hard to look away. He had read almost ten advertisements, and despite his desire to go back to not knowing any of these men existed, he could tell he was going to read more. It was the kind of schadenfreude that didn’t even make him feel good.

                Well, there was one titled “looking for a friend first.” No orange text indicating that there was a picture, which was good. He was tired of looking at cocks.

                Whoever had posted this sounded half apologetic about it, which was a sentiment Rush could approve of on this site. “Eventual sex,” he had written. He at least didn’t have any grammatical errors in his advertisement, and if it cost him a few emails back and forth before either of them lost interest, what did it matter?

                He clicked “reply.”

                _Hello. Your advertisement that you are looking for a friend before anything else interested me. I am 47, and would like to exchange emails with you. Please send me an email from your own address so we can correspond. I hope to hear from you. Nicholas._

He went to bed with the feeling that he had just made a huge mistake.

                The next morning, there was a new message in his inbox, subject line _From Everett._ He clicked it with a bit of trepidation.

                _Nicholas, I’m glad to receive a sane response to my notice, I was nervous opening your reply. I’ve recently been discharged from the Air Force and I work a consulting job now. I have plenty of time to email/call in the evenings, and am usually free on the weekends as well. I guess I should include something about myself: I’m divorced, I like chess and westerns, I’m a quiet guy. Nice to meet you. Everett._

It was a nice response. There was, of course, no way to verify that there wasn’t a murderer on the other side, but the guy sounded nice. He sent back his number and a link to an online chess game.

~

                Playing chess via computer and texting with Nicholas got old within half an hour.

                > _Can I just call? I hate texting._ Young felt clumsy and slow trying to type out his thoughts. He jumped a little when his phone started ringing, though, and picked it up cautiously.

                “Nicholas,” he said evenly.

                “Everett,” the response came, surprisingly accented. He frowned.

                “You’re in Colorado?”

                “That’s the whole point of using craigslist, isn’t it, to find people in your town?” Nicholas sounded a little annoyed.

                “Yeah,” he said. “The accent threw me.”

                “Immigrant,” Nicholas said, voice clipped. Young felt a bit of fear.

                “I don’t mean to sound insulting,” he said slowly. There was a quiet huff on the other end.

                “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “And you can call me Nick, not Nicholas, I’m more used to it.” There was a pause and a hmm sound. “I guess I’m most used to my last name, actually.”

                “Same,” Young said. He wasn’t sure if that meant that they should exchange their full names, so he settled for advancing a pawn on his screen. Nick was apparently too good to fall for the way he’d exposed his rook to his queen, because he didn’t take the bait.

                “You play with a lot of amateurs?” Nick said, voice slightly mocking, but with a friendly challenge. At least, Young hoped it was a friendly challenge.

                “I don’t play much at all,” he said.

                “It shows,” Nick said, and there was definitely some warmth under the insult. Something like flirting. Young swallowed. He was extremely out of practice at all this.

                “Probably,” he agreed. David was too impatient for chess, and Camile liked when she and Sharon came over on weekends and flattened them at Pictionary. “Ah, shit.” Nick had managed to capture a knight.

                The chess games didn’t progress quickly most nights: Nick was fun to talk to, always ready to “explain” something about the intersection of electrical engineering and computer science. He knew a lot about astronomy and physics and classical and folk music, though Young found his knowledge of rock to be sadly lacking. He was willing to listen, though, and seemed genuinely glad to hear Young’s occasional contributions to their conversations.

                They didn’t have conversations so much as they had Nick talking about some subject while Young listened: it was nice, though, and Young liked it. He liked when one or both of them was in a competitive mood and the conversation was peppered with jabs. He liked the way his name sounded when Nick bit it out after he managed to capture one of his pieces.

                He didn’t tell David or Camile about it, just saying he was playing chess online a lot in the evenings when David asked about his efforts to get laid.

                “You’re not going to get laid doing that,” he said, and Camile rolled her eyes at him.

                “David, calm down,” she said. “Everett can do what he likes.”

~

                Rush was in the middle of particularly lackluster game with Everett when the other man asked a surprising question.

                “I have a chessboard and plenty of beer, do you wanna come over some time?” There was an empty silence after that, and Rush tried to think. He knew Everett well enough now. He wouldn’t mind being able to read facial cues during conversation, or drinking a few beers. It was Thursday today.

                “Yeah, sure,” he said softly. “Here, what’s your address? I can come over tomorrow.” Based on how often they talked, neither of them had Friday night engagements.

                “Okay,” Everett said, and as he recited his address, Rush had to laugh slightly. “What?”

                “You live only a few miles from me,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

                It was easy to grab a six-pack of Heineken and get into his car, drive five minutes down a few roads to Everett’s small house, and park on the street a few houses down. It was less easy to pick up the beer, open his door, and get out of his car. It was even harder to walk down the sidewalk in the fading light, past a woman walking her dog, up to number 217, and knock on the door.

                The door opened to a man only a few inches taller than Rush, with broad shoulders, curly dark hair, and a blunt-featured, appealing face. Well. He was a lot more attractive than Rush had been expecting. He held up his beer.

                “Thought I would bring something.” Everett stepped back, and Rush came inside, kicked off his shoes, and stood there for a second before Everett turned and led him into a small but clean kitchen.

                “You wanna stick it in the fridge?” He did so, and then folded his arms, having nothing left to do. Everett had his hands in his pockets. Rush was finding it simultaneously difficult and easy to look at him: his face and neck were making his lips and hands itch. Maybe he was more starved for contact than he had thought. He remembered Everett’s initial indication that he might be interested in “eventual sex.” Though, after seeing him for the first time, he might be completely uninterested in sex with Rush. That was definitely possible.

                Everett walked into the small living room, taking a box down from the top of a bookshelf. The lid wasn’t dusty at all, which suggested that Everett had gotten it out from somewhere and decided that the top of the bookshelf was a good place to leave it.

                They set up the pieces: pale and dark wood, weighted at the bottoms. Everett took a few cold beers from the fridge and took a long pull, making Rush swallow at the movement of his throat and the way his hair shifted when he tilted his head back. Damn it, he was going to lose this game.

~

                Young had to make an effort to not polish off his beer in one gulp. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but Nick was not it: he was slight and dark-eyed, with long straight hair, a short beard, and glasses. He slid a pawn forward, raised an eyebrow at Young, and Young tried to concentrate. Nick was a lot more overwhelming when he could add eyebrows and his scorching eyes to his comments, jab his finger against the table, rub at his right shoulder with his left hand. Young squeezed his eyes shut, _didn’t_ think about his hands sliding down Nick’s chest or how his eyes might widen at the touch, and tried to play.

                He was playing abysmally, though he’d limited himself to two beers so far, and yet he hadn’t lost yet. Was Nick going easy on him? The look of his furrowed brow didn’t suggest that he was, and his words weren’t slurred: he’d only had two himself.

                Maybe…Young’s mouth went dry at the thought. Maybe Nick was just as distracted as he was. Maybe he would be as happy to abandon this embarrassing match as Young would be. But maybe he wasn’t and wouldn’t be, and Young would ruin their new friendship.

                “So what were you doing on Craigslist when you came across my ad?” he asked. Nick shook his head.

                “My coworkers were concerned that I needed something in my life.” Young snorted.

                “That’s basically why I made it in the first place.”

                “To meddling friends,” Nick said dryly, opening another beer. “I’m glad it worked out this way.” Young clinked the bottles together and drank.

                “So,” he said, feeling his heart beat up into his throat and a shock of adrenaline in his belly, as if he was still young and frightened. “I don’t know your position, because we never talked about it, but regarding the bit where I commented about eventual, ah, sex—“

                “It’s fine,” Nick interrupted, giving him a look that was slightly pained. “I’m not exactly anyone’s fantasy, I’m fine with just being friends.”

                “Uh, okay,” Young said, feeling his heart sink a little. “Right, good to clear that up.” He was sweating. Jesus, he wasn’t eighteen, he was over forty. He needed to get himself together.

                The game still didn’t pick up, no matter how off-the-table sex was now, and Young really wanted to finish Nick’s whole six pack and possibly all the beer in the house, because he was more disappointed than he had a right to be about the sex when they’d only met face-to-face today.

                Nick left at eleven thirty, smiling slightly at him, and Young pressed his face into the wood of his door, resisting the urge to bang his head. Fuck.

                He called Nick on Sunday afternoon, invited him over again. He still liked the guy, and it was still better to see him than to worry if his long pauses over the phone were being construed as boredom or disengagement.

                Nick was more focused on the game this time, and beat Young easily. He gave him a puzzled look at that.

                “You’re not really on top of your game today,” he said. Young scrubbed a hand through his hair.

                “I was just thinking, my friends often come over on Tuesday nights, you should come too. I mean, you can still come over basically any time and call, but since you don’t want to do the romance thing, we can always use a new player when we do partner games.” Nick frowned at him, sat back, and tilted his head very slightly.

                “Since I don’t want to do the romance thing?” he asked slowly. Young wanted to grind his teeth. “I never said that, actually.”

                “You said you were fine with just being friends,” Young reminded him.

                “I said that because you were implying that you weren’t interested.”

                “How can you tell what I was implying? Because that wasn’t it,” Young said flatly. Nick shifted on the couch.

                “So you are interested in pursuing more than friendship?”

                “That is what I said initially,” Young said.

                “Well, so am I,” Nick said, and his voice was rougher than usual, and he turned his head to the side, revealing a high flush on his cheeks. Young’s annoyance at his presumption was sliding away.

                “Come here,” he said, shoving the board to the floor and dragging him forward.

~

                Everett’s hand clenched in his shirt, pulling him almost into his lap, wasn’t what he had expected, but he wrapped a hand around the back of his head anyway, the warmth of his neck like a shock, and the rough press of his lips even more so. Instinct kicked in for a few seconds, and by the time he could see and think, they were exchanging small, open-mouthed kisses, just lips and a little teeth and a lot of shared breaths. Everett was slow and thorough, moving his lips over Rush’s, nipping at his jaw, bumping their noses together.

                “God,” Rush gasped, and leaned in closer, capturing his mouth and sliding his tongue against Everett’s, exploring his mouth carefully, then withdrawing to kiss down his jaw and chin and neck.

                “Nick,” Everett breathed, and Rush kissed him again, abandoning sweet and tantalizing fully in favor of dirty and infuriating, climbing into his lap and putting his hands on his thighs. He was hard, and a glance down let him know Everett was too.

                “Mmm,” he said, putting one hand on Everett’s chest and the other on his arm. He wasn’t interested in conversation, he was too busy enjoying the slide of Everett’s tongue on his and his muscular frame under his hands. But still, he found himself pushed off, and then he had his back against the couch and Everett was straddling him, hand cupping his chin, the other sliding down from his breastbone to his stomach to hook into his belt.

                Everett kept kissing him as he undid his belt and then his jeans, and he wasn’t sure exactly where this was going—handjob, probably, at this stage—but then Everett wasn’t pressed close and hot, he was backing up and dragging Rush to his feet by pulling on his ass. And then he was standing up with Everett crouching on one knee in front of him, busy pulling his dick out of his underwear.

                “Oh my God,” he managed to say, and bit back a whine as Everett licked unselfconsciously over his balls, tongue hot and strong and unexpected. The arousal went right down to the soles of his feet. He grabbed Everett’s shoulders, worried about staying steady. Everett didn’t let up, only slowly moving his mouth up to the base of his dick, replacing his mouth with a hand on his balls. The broad, slow licks halfway up his dick were making it leak and causing a series of groans to spill from his mouth. God, he wanted to feel the inside of Everett’s mouth, the heat of his tongue wasn’t enough, he wanted the inside of his cheek rubbing against the head of his dick.

                Everett pulled away, wrapped his other hand leisurely around his cock, and finally slid his mouth over Rush’s dick. The jerk of his hips was completely involuntary, and Everett hummed around him, dragging a curse from his lips and a frantic grab at the back of Everett’s curly hair.

                “Holy shit, Everett. I’m—holy _shit_ , I’m gonna come if you keep—“ He could feel the back of Everett’s throat on his dick, and the sight of his lips sliding up and down the length of him was making his spine try to curl in on itself, making his legs shake. He really was going to come, he could feel it, and there was nothing in the world that could make him try to pull away from the hand stroking over his balls and the heat of Everett’s mouth around him. “I’m really—“ he panted, and Everett, with a slurping moan, slid down further than before, almost swallowing him. He let go, groaning out curses as he came into Everett’s mouth, trying to memorize the feeling and the sight through the pleasure singing through his body.

                Everett sucked slowly off his softening dick, and Rush let out a shaky breath, trying to steady himself. He brushed a hand over Everett’s cheek, blinking.

                “That was,” he managed to say. “Not what I expected.” He swallowed as Everett licked his lips and got to his feet. “I don’t know if I can do that well.” He undid Everett’s belt and his trousers, sliding his hand down into his boxers and getting it around the thick length. God. He had a brief moment thinking back to some of the first ads he’d read, and chuckled a little.

                “What’s so funny?” Everett asked. Rush squeezed along the length of him, smearing precome down his length, and kissed at the corner of his mouth.

                “Just had a terrible flashback to all those notices that say “I want to get fucked by huge cock” that you could have answered,” he said, and increased the speed of his hand.

                “God,” Everett said, snorting, but it turned into frantic panting as Rush worked his hand until his wrist was sore and Everett finally groaned into his neck, biting down a little as he trembled slightly. He wiped his hand on a dry portion of Everett’s boxers and let himself be kissed again. Then Everett pulled back. “You know, I feel disgusting,” he said, and disappeared, reappearing a few moments later in different boxers, trousers apparently not worth putting back on.

                “I’m glad you brought up the sex thing again,” Rush said. “I like this.” He swept the chess pieces away from the couch with his foot and sank down into the couch, glad when Everett sat down next to him, not shy about sitting close.

~

                He renewed his invitation for Rush to come over on Tuesday nights a few weeks later, when they had determined that they might as well say that they were “together.” Camile and Sharon were all smiling welcome, and David—who had elected to drag along Sheppard—raised an eyebrow at Young. Sheppard just smiled, as usual, and finally, with a look that suggested he was suppressing hysterical laughter, said, “Jesus, Young, I think Tuesday nights at your place are turning into the most staid concentration of middle-aged gays in town.” He schooled his expression back into its normal state and winked at David, who just glared back with more than his usual intensity. Yes, Young was glad he’d avoided whatever the hell was going on there.

                “Thanks John,” Young muttered, but Rush didn’t look fazed.

                “It’s not the weirdest thing that’s ever been said in front of me by someone’s friend,” he said later, when Young was pulling his clothes off and pushing him down onto the bed.

                “Good,” Young said, and bit at his chest. “Come on, turn over.”

~

                In an effort to welcome Everett into his circle of friends, such as they were, he invited him to the Red Tiger, offering opportunities to back out up until they were walking in the door. Everett seemed amused by this, and insisted he wanted to meet them.

                “So how did you guys meet?” Park asked brightly.

                “Online chess,” Everett said, without missing a beat, and Rush felt both intensely grateful and impressed at the sincerity of the lie. Brody handed a twenty over to Volker with a bland expression, and Park nodded.

                “Nice,” she said. “Online, huh? Surprising what you can find.”

                “Yeah,” Rush said, and couldn’t even bring himself to add some bite into his voice, because she was right.


	3. Exercise

‘you jog shirtless past my house every morning au’

-

                Rush preferred not to think of himself as the type of creep who ogled people, but he allowed himself the indulgence of drinking his coffee at six A.M. in the summer while looking out the dining room window. Someone who lived in the neighborhood, a man he judged to be in his early forties, jogged by at six fifteen every morning without a shirt on. He was only human, and it was only about ten seconds’ worth of ogling anyway: enough to tell that the man was built more like a rugby or American football player than a runner, and fast anyway.

                He wasn’t sure why his unknown neighbor was so captivating, but he was. Something about all the skin, or the obvious strength on display. Occasionally, less than once a week, he would find himself interested enough that he was tempted to take a few minutes to jerk himself off. He never did: it seemed like it would be crossing a line, one that was actually a barrier of morality, and not a challenge. But he didn’t stop watching out the window at six in the morning.

                It got dark in the morning before the weather turned, so he didn’t have a chance to see whether or not the man kept up his running in the winter. Probably he did: people who exercised were like that. Suffering for the sake of health, or physique, or ego. None of his coworkers were the type: maybe Chloe.

                It was thanks to a rainy morning and an afternoon-scheduled exam that he actually met his neighbor, pulling into his driveway at four thirty after twelve straight hours on campus. The ground was still wet, but the runner was making his way up the hill his house was built on. He tucked the box of exams under his arm and went to the mailbox, nodding at the man as he passed. He had on sweatpants, a hat, and a t-shirt as a concession to the cold. They were all sort of loose and unflattering, but now that Rush had had a good look at him, he still found him attractive. Breathing hard, grimy with sweat and a bit of mud, but definitely attractive.

                Rush lingered for a moment too long at the mailbox, watching him from the corner of his eye. He turned left at the top of the hill, and Rush’s jaw dropped slightly as he saw him slow down and walk to the door of a small house on that street. Not visible from his living room, for certain, but they lived closer than he had thought. Well, he honestly hadn’t thought of that at all, just appreciated him as he went by, when he went by.

                Rush’s schedule didn’t allow for coming home at a certain time so that he could be safely ensconced in his living room with a decaf coffee in order to ogle his neighbor on rainy days, so it wasn’t until spring, and the return of an early sunrise, that he saw the man again. He switched the sweatpants for shorts before he lost the shirt, apparently. And cut his curly hair down to his skull. Rush’s mouth still went dry some days, and his refusal to think about the man while he jerked off was getting harder to do. It was verging on creepy, he realized it, but he was loath to stop doing it. It didn’t count as stalking if he never did a damn thing about it.

                He stopped anyway, and two days after his resolution to not drink his coffee in the dining room, but stay in the kitchen, there was a knock on the door. He nearly dropped his mug in shock when it was the neighbor on the other side, looking to the side, still breathing hard, sweat all down his face.

                “Are you okay?” He didn’t offer any explanation for why he was asking.

                “Fine,” Rush managed. He was staring, but hopefully it was a ‘what are you doing’ stare rather than a ‘I’ve watched you for almost a damn year’ stare. “Why?”

                “There’s been a light on downstairs in your house every single day for months, and there hasn’t been for two days. Odd question, but better safe than sorry.”

                “I haven’t died in bed, just changed my schedule,” Rush said. He was having a hard time looking away from—everything.

                “Sorry to bother you,” he sounded slightly embarrassed, and held his hand out. “I’m Everett Young.” Rush blinked at it, and him, and grasped his hand after a moment. It was sweaty, but he had a firm grip. Rush’s hand was tingling, and the feeling was moving to the rest of his body.

                “Nick Rush,” he said. His mouth was dry. Everett Young’s eyes flicked up and down him, not very subtly, and Rush felt his face heat.

                “See you around,” Everett Young said. His face was unreadable, and he stepped down from the door, back across the small lawn, and onto the street. Rush closed the door, frowning. The likelihood that the “eye candy,” as Park or Eli might say, whom he stared at every morning had just checked him out was remote, but that down-and-up of Everett Young’s eyes had been nearly lingering. He didn’t _think_ he was imagining the chemistry.

                He didn’t even know the man, but he knocked back three shots one night and made his unsteady way to his door, knocking and ignoring the pit of fear that was trying to break through the scotch. It opened, just as he was having the god-awful realization that Everett Young could be married for all he knew. The man himself was standing on the other side of the door, though. Rush was too drunk to read his face, but he didn’t look too mad.

                “Is this an eye for an eye?” he asked.

                “Were you checking me out?” Rush blurted out, almost on top of his words.

                “That could definitely have been an eye for an eye thing,” he replied, smiling slightly. “But yes.”

                Rush was too drunk to know what he should do next. Everett Young gave him a concerned look.

                “You look sick.”

                “Just a bit tipsy,” he said carefully.

                “Come in and sit down.”

                Everett Young gave Rush a glass of water and let him sit on his couch. After half an hour, Rush was feeling more sober, and incredibly mortified.

                “Fuck,” he said, quietly.

                “If it helps, you didn’t waste your time coming here,” Everett Young said, in a quiet, serious voice. He was holding a glass himself, and looking slightly to the side. “You were staring, but I was staring back.”

                “That doesn’t always mean anything,” Rush said, finishing his water.

                “Well, let’s see, Nick,” he replied, and gave Rush a steady look. The use of his name made him shiver a little, through the alcohol. He saw the other man’s mouth quirk up slightly. God, Everett Young had a few things on him already, and he didn’t even know that Rush had been attracted to him for a long, long time. He was screwed: well, hopefully that would be literally, soon.

                “Right,” he said. His head was still spinning. Maybe not tonight. But soon, based on this conversation.


End file.
